


been wondering if your heart's still open

by confectionerybrick



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: 2x14 spoilers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Caretaking, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Injury, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Post-Sophia Break Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-15 08:56:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3441179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/confectionerybrick/pseuds/confectionerybrick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Jake struggles to cope with his break up with Sophia, Rosa and Kylie persuade Amy to take matters into her own hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. so, have you got the guts?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gabby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gabby/gifts).



 

Jake is at the precinct before Amy most days now, and it freaks her out. 

When he's not quiet and diligently ostriched in paperwork, he's making up for it by being twice as loud and boisterous as Amy ever remembers. Last week he set three different bagels on fire and wrapped everything on Scully's desk, including the desk itself, in pictures of his face. When they get a call out, he's either deadly silent or singing along to the radio, out of tune and holding imaginary microphones up to Amy's lips for the choruses. 

He stays late at his desk, and in the mornings his eyes are dark.

**\--**

“It's time. Dear _God_ , it's time.”

Amy almost jumps out of her skin as Rosa takes the bar stool next to her. Her fellow detective has a way of sneaking up on people that's useful for catching perps, but completely unsettles Amy.

“Hey, Rosa... what are you talking about?

Rosa sticks two fingers in the air for another beer, then glances pointedly over to the other end of the bar. Amy runs her thumb round the base of her glass and turns her head, following Rosa's gaze; Jake is currently sprawled over the sticky mahogany, regaling a mildly amused (or so she guesses) Holt with a story from a recent bust which, from the snippets she's overheard, involves a diabetic Alsatian puppy and three kilograms of cocaine.

“C'mon, Santiago.” Rosa swigs from her fresh bottle. “If I have to watch you make doe eyes at Peralta for another month, I'll smash your faces together myself. It's getting annoying.”

Amy chokes on her whiskey sour.

“I – I don't make _doe eyes_ ,” she coughs indignantly, eyes watering.

“Don't play cute. I'm a detective in the NYPD. I notice shit.” Rosa pauses, cocking an eyebrow, before leaning closer. “You know Jake _used_ to like you, but you don't know if he still does. You're wondering how to go about finding out, and if it's too soon after Sophia to try. You're scared he might not feel the same way, or that he might shoot you down because he's still getting over his ex. Sound familiar?”

Amy was not prepared for this assault on what she'd previously categorised as her private thoughts. She looks down at her drink, feeling the flush bloom on her cheeks. Out of the corner of her eye, Rosa's lip curls upwards.

“How do you know all that?” she whispers, curiosity beating her desire to curl up into a ball. “And don't give me that line about being a detective!”

Rosa sits back, glances down at Jake for a beat, then looks back at Amy as if studying her. “I won't pretend I'm great at relationships, Santiago. But I've known Jake a long time and I can read him like a book. It's quite easy, once you get past the innuendo and the bravado – although, sometimes that's part of it.”

Amy narrows her eyes and downs the rest of her drink, waiting for Rosa to continue.

“Boyle told me that Jake liked you the day after we went to the tactical village last year, because he can't keep his damn mouth shut. When it was obvious he still held a torch for you after playing Donnie Brasco, I tried to help him get over you, but nothing really worked until he met that lawyer.”

“What's your point?”

“My point _is -_ I see you acting the exact same way as he did when he got back from his six-month FBI shift. And you should suck it up and do something about it.”

With that, she leaves, leaving Amy staring at the shelf of spirits.

Has she really been that obvious? She knows she's a terrible liar when it comes to personal things, but since Jake had returned to the force she had feels as though she's done a decent job of covering up her emotions. Perhaps too good a job, she reflects sadly, as she recalls the way he had instantly gone into defence mode when he came back and she'd told him she was still with Teddy.

But she's adamant she doesn't make doe eyes.

Maybe Rosa's right, and it's time to get real with herself and go after what she wants. Her grandmother had always told her it was unbecoming to chase boys, and it wasn't ever something she'd actively done before – but fuck that.

 _Siento abuéla_ , she mumbles to herself as she buys another drink and looks back over at Jake, who's face is cracked open in laughter. She gives Rosa a sly smile as she passes on her way to the bathrooms, and takes a deep breath.

**\--**

“You're overthinking this,” Kylie says the following night, as they share duck gyoza in front of _Law and Order._ “You start wearing tight trousers and low cut shirts to work, and if that doesn't get his attention then you stick your tongue down his throat.”

Amy gives her a light slap. “I'm not aiming for a one-night stand, Ky. It's a big deal, getting involved with a co-worker.” She doesn't have to tell her how complicated her feelings for Jake have become, but that she has no idea how to express that in a way that won't scare him off. He has just got out of the most serious relationship she'd known him to have, after all, and he hadn't been dealing with it well. She doesn't want to overwhelm or pressure him.

“Even in that case, you're _still_ overthinking it.” Kylie had paused the DVR, turning to face Amy on the couch. “You don't need to approach everything in life like it's police procedure, or whatever. Just... get closer to him. You guys are pretty tight as partners, and it helps that you're friends - it won't be hard. If he still has feelings for you, it'll all fall into place.”

Amy strides into work on Monday (dressed in her usual, modest pant-suit, thank you very much) and perches on the edge of Jake's desk. He's fiddling with the toy police car that usually gets pushed between his and Amy's desks, having not yet booted up his computer. Given his recent behaviour, Amy muses that procrastination is perhaps his own personal form of progress.

“Heads up - Boyle just arrested someone off the street who is basically his clone,” she gushes. “He looks just like him, except he's wearing crocs and has a bad dye job. I'm pretty sure he arrested him for crimes against fashion.”

Jake's eyes light up, and he turns his full attention to her. She can smell the bite of strong coffee on his breath. “Did he charge him with assault on the eyes with a deadly weapon?”

Boyle strides in with his cuffed double, and Jake lets out a shout of a laugh, rubbing his hands together. Amy remains semi-seated as Boyle hands off the perp to a patrol officer and rifles through his desk for paperwork.

“Good work Charles! Invite me to the premiere when they make a movie about the cop who arrested his long lost twin brother.”

Boyle simply raises his eyebrows at him as he walks back out of the bullpen, and Gina snorts from her desk. Jake turns back to his computer and switches the monitor on, rubbing his eyes. He pauses when Amy doesn't move, eyes flicking up at her. “You comfy, Santiago?”

“You look tired. Not sleeping so good?”

He looks a little taken aback at her question, then his expression quickly melts into default comedic and he nudges her thigh with a knuckle. “Aww, Amy, you care!”

She sighs, going back to her own desk, hoping her cheeks aren't burning as red as they feel. “I... just don't want to get hurt in the line of duty because my partner was up all night. That's all.” Her tone is bitter, but she smiles.

“Well, I... actually slept pretty well last night,” Jake replies, his own smile becoming less pronounced and more sincere. “I wasn't up until three marathoning _Desperate Housewives_ , which probably helped.”

He looks back at his monitor, and Amy realises that this is about as much as she's going to get out of him at this moment. She sighs into her café con leche and opens her email, ready to start the day.

At lunch, Jake spills blue soda all down his orange plaid shirt. He stuffs it in his desk and spends the afternoon in the only thing he could find in his locker – an old, black undershirt that's far too tight. Amy calls him Swayze for the rest of the afternoon, and tries not to stare at the way his shoulders flex under the cotton.

He doesn't respond to the teasing, but when they get called out to a robbery at a deli she picks up a giant watermelon and asks him to teach her how to mambo. His mouth twitches in amusement, and he playfully wrestles it out of her arms. His frame is warm and tight, and when she concedes she's a little flustered.

When they leave the shop, he does a ridiculous Latin twirl and she laughs.

**\--**

Jake comes back from testifying in court, and the lines of his back and neck are rigid, especially under his ill-fitting suit. Amy doesn't have to guess what happened.

“Here,” she says, plonking down the muffin she'd brought for lunch in front of him. “You look like you need this more than I do.”

He blinks at the offering, and gives a small, sad smile. Amy pats him on the shoulder.

“Why does she have to be so good at her job?” He mumbles, lips half squashed against the palm of his hand. “She got me all riled up just by firing questions. I kept thinking about the night she dumped me and I completely lost my nerve.”

Amy sighs, her heart clenching. “You know defence attorneys are snakes, Jake. She probably knew she could play you to get the verdict she needed, it's not your fault.”

She watches him pick a blueberry out of the muffin. She's completely unsettled by the way he reacts: docile and moody instead of simply angry or frustrated.

“We won the case. So why do I still feel like shit?”

For that, Amy isn't sure she has the right answer.

“Do you still... have feelings for her?”

Jake's hand stills, and he meets her eyes. His are tired, lacking their usual spark, but wide and uncertain on her face. She suddenly feels naked under the strip lights, and she starts picking at the thread on her shirt.

“I... it's not -”

“Peralta!”

Jake jumps at the sound of Holt's voice, barking from behind Amy. He puts the muffin in his top desk drawer, and makes his way to Holt's office.

**\--**

“I just don't know what to do. One moment he seems fine, and the next day she's interrogating him on the stand and it's like all his progress has just been lost. He's just so... so _sad_ , you know? I've never seen him like this. He didn't even come to Shaw's last night. I mean, he used to sit by himself a lot when they first broke up, but at least he came. I knew it was serious, at least for him, but not _that_ serious, y'know?”

Amy peruses Kylie's selection of lipsticks – they're all either too dark or too bright for her. Kylie is rifling through her wardrobe, occasionally picking out a dress and holding it up against Amy before frowning and hanging it back up.

“You need to cheer him up,” Kylie asserts, examining a little black dress which Amy defiantly shakes her head at. “Give him some of that sweet, sweet cuba libre, _comprende_?”

“First of all, that's racist,” Amy replies, raising her eyebrows. “Second – I'm just not sure that he's over her. I don't want to be his rebound.”

Kylie sighs, taking the black dress off the hanger. “One step at a time, honey. I know, you've told me a hundred times that you don't want this to be a casual thing, and I get it. But... you've got to do _something_. Maybe he isn't over her, and that's okay. But he will be, in time. It sucks that he'll keep running into her because of work, but one day it won't bother him so much any more. He won't mope after her forever.”

Amy plays with the lid of a coral lip gloss, watching the spongey applicator pop out of the tube. She thinks back to what Rosa had said to her a week ago, and the resolution she'd made herself in the bar. She returns the make up to its box and takes out her cell phone, typing a message.

_Going to Blue Point tonight. Come for a few drinks instead of starting season 5 of Desperate Housewives. If you say no I'll text you spoilers for the rest of the evening._

“One step at a time,” Kylie repeats, grinning. “That's my girl! Now, try on this dress. I want to see if it makes your legs look as good as it does mine."

–-

Amy had been to Blue Point a handful of times, accompanied by Kylie, who always manages to get cheap cocktails in ways that bemuse Amy. As they descend the steps into a basement with low wooden ceilings and dark corners, she feels the thick beat of the heavy, drugging R&B encase her, and the pair of them blend into the crowd of patrons. She's already had two drinks and her senses are floating behind her; she brushes past a crowd of hipsters and electricity runs through her at the promise of getting to let her hair down. The rapidity of her intoxication after opening a bottle of wine was probably the main factor in Amy agreeing to wear the black dress, which cuts low on her chest, is tight on her waist and swells out into a short skater skirt. The bartender makes a beeline to serve her, and she flushes, struggling to hide a proud smile.

“Amy.”

There's a light touch on her arm. Jake is nursing a half-finished pint to her left, and she's honestly surprised he's here because he hadn't replied to her text message. She turns, and once they lock eyes she feels hyperaware of him.

“Jake!” she exclaims, and he smiles as if only just deciding that being here is a good idea. She holds her breath as his eyes flick momentarily down over her dress, then back up to her face, which she can feel steadily pinkening ( _it's because of the wine_ , she tells herself, _definitely not due to that one tiny gesture_ ). He looks away, scratching his neck, and her attention is stolen by the bartender who places two Manhattans down on the bar in front of her. Next to Amy, Kylie turns and peers around her, a curious and devilish smile on her face.

“Is this the infamous Jake Peralta?”

Amy rolls her eyes as Jake sticks his hand out towards Kylie, instantly plastering on a grin.

“Infamous, huh?” he replies, wiggling his eyebrows at Amy, who blushes harder. “Kylie, right? Can I buy you a drink if you tell me all of Amy's embarrassing secrets?”

Amy sucks in a cheek, and picks up her cocktail. “We've just got these, Jake. I don't think I've had enough to drink to allow those conversations.”

Jake grins, and tips her glass up towards her face with his finger. Kylie laughs.

“C'mon, let's get a table.”

\--

It doesn't take long for Amy to reach the point of intoxication where she's relaxed enough to sit back and let Jake and Kylie trade stories about the precinct and Amy's personal life. For her part, Kylie restricts her gossip to things that aren't too embarrassing, and when Jake goes to the bathroom she leans in and hugs her gently.

“You're the best friend ever.”

“Yeah, and you're drunk.”

Amy just grins and plants a kiss on Kylie's cheek, liking the smudge of maroon she leaves. Kylie rummages in her bag and pulls out the lipstick, popping the top and handing it to Amy along with a mirror.

“Come on, girl, you're fading. Not that it really matters; for all that he's talking to me, he's looking at you.”

Amy takes a deep breath to steady herself as she reapplies her lipstick. She feels powerful - and sexy, which is a new thing. She likes the way she looks in this dress, and the alcohol has given her a slow buzz which makes her body thrum and everything around her dull. The room is dark and heated; people are shapes on the dance floor, and as she watches them touch, grind, kiss each other, her heart starts to beat like it wants to escape. There's a craving there, a longing to just let go. She feels Kylie tap her arm, and she looks back at her friend.

“I've just seen a guy I went to college with,” Kylie mutters, gathering her things together. “I'm going to go and talk to him, and when I come back to this table you better be putting on some moves.”

Amy cocks her eyebrow as Kylie stands up and leaves the booth, winking at Amy over her shoulder as she melts into the crowd. With nobody to talk to for the moment, she takes the last few sips of her drink, and when she's finished she runs her finger round the edge. She's glad Jake is here with them; teasing Amy seems to be taking his mind off things. He's spent the evening constantly smiling and laughing, something that's been rare in the past few weeks.

She feels someone put a hand on her shoulder, and looks up expecting Jake but instead finds a man she doesn't know. He's leaning over her, a broad grin stretched over his shiny face.

“Hey, gorgeous. You here alone?”

“No,” Amy replies bluntly, with what she hopes is a pacifying smile.

“Well, you don't have a drink,” the man persists, and Amy sighs internally. “Can I get you one?”

“Really, I'm fine, thank you. My friend's at the bar.”

“Let me keep you company until she gets back.”

For some inexplicable reason he takes her polite rejection as an invitation to slide into the booth opposite her, and she deliberately looks at the wall. She doesn't want to leave the table until Jake comes back, in case she loses him in the vast club.

“What's your name?”

“Amy?”

It isn't her that answers, but to her relief, Jake. He's returned with three beers, looking a little confused. “Where's Kylie? And, uh, who's this?”

“Name's Paul,” the man answers with a sly grin, “and I was just having a conversation with Amy here.”

“Well, my friend is back, so... bye,” Amy interjects awkwardly, before Jake can reply.

“Woah, can't we just chat for a bit?” The man, Paul, asks, leaning forward. Amy recoils in her seat; she didn't know if it was the dress or the fact that she had simply appeared to be alone that was causing this kind of attention. She'd dealt with creeps before, more often in her line of work than anywhere else, but she still feels her skin crawl with how this stranger is looking at her. Jake puts the drinks down on the table, his expression slipping from exasperated to irritated.

“Buddy, she doesn't want to talk to you. Beat it.”

Paul stands up; he's taller than Jake, and a little broader in the shoulders. “Who are you, her boyfriend?”

“Should it matter if I was?” Jake bites back, and Amy starts to panic. “If a lady makes it clear she's not interested, then you leave her the fuck alone.”

“Jake, it's fine,” Amy mutters urgently, placing a hand on his arm. He's lost all the fluid calm the night had imbibed him with and now he's tense and angry, as though he was looking at a perp who'd carried out a particularly disgusting crime.

Jake steps forward, and people around them start to look their way. Amy gets up, wobbling a little in her heels, and pulls him back, a hand on his chest.

“C'mon, let's just go.”

“You're with this loser?” Paul sneers, eyes flicking between the two of them and sucking his teeth. “You're missing out, but have it your way. Have a... fun night.”

He gives Jake one last dirty look before slinking off, making his way towards another lone woman who is sequestered by the end of the bar.

“Dick,” Jake spits after him, picking up a beer and turning towards Amy. “You alright, Ames?”

She nods, wide-eyed. She knows that Jake knows she can take care of herself – he's watched her take down perps twice her size – but when it comes to sexual advances, it's personal, and it unsettles her. It must have shown on her face, or maybe Jake just felt the need to step in as another male – whatever it was, the way he instantly became aggressive on her behalf was primal, she recognises that. She stands before him now as he assesses her, and her imagination starts running wild – triggered by the thought of him feeling possessive of her, defensive of her.

“Let's dance, I want to just forget what happened.” She grabs a beer and her bag, and before her nerve fails her, she takes his hand and starts to walk into the crowd. She looks back, expecting him to make a sex tape joke. When he frowns softly, she simply tugs on his arm and says, “C'mon, Johnny Castle. Teach me the meringue.”

He gives in, smiling, and follows her as she weaves her way into the crowd, the pair of them jostled by groups of dancing girls and entwined couples. They find a small spot in the centre of the room, pressed in on all sides by heat and bodies, and Amy allows herself to float on the wave of movement, the buzz of excitement. The song changes to something she knows, and the intro reverberates through her body in a way that's almost trippy. She closes her eyes and smiles up at the ceiling, and hears Jake chuckle.

The lights don't reach where they are; it's mostly dark, but there are odd bursts of colour like painted lightning over Jake's face. She's always thought he looks so intense when he's serious, perhaps due to the huge contrast to his usual goofy smile.

“You remember the last time we did this?”

“Santiago, we have never been to a nightclub together, ever,” Jake shouts back over the music, leaning in so she can hear. He smells of spicy aftershave, and she struggles to keep her eyes focused on his face. “Not even for a case.”

“I meant the dancing,” she replies, swaying to the music. She's unsteady on her feet with the surrounding crowd constantly moving; threading a hand through her hair and spreading her feet a little to keep balance, she starts to move her hips to the beat. It's been too long since she did this, and no, she can't technically dance well, but it feels natural. The last time she had danced with Jake, she stood on his feet and was stiff in an awkward rumba hold.

“C'mon, Jake,” she implores, grabbing his spare hand as he finishes his beer and hands the bottle to a conveniently passing glass collector. She sees an exasperated smile sprout on his face in the shadows, blooming into a laugh as he watches her exaggerate her movements to the beat as the song changes.

The last cocktail she had starts to hit her, and she feels increasingly more fluid as they dance. Song after song passes them by, and soon they're crying with laughter as Amy fails to do the _Crazy In Love_ dance dance while Jake manages to pull it off flawlessly. This is what she'd missed – the genuinely carefree Jake, honest, fun, and her friend.

Deep beats and dirty grooves travel up through her sore feet, filling her lungs and spreading down through her veins. She's lost track of how long they've been there, and she doesn't care. Her daring fingers trail over Jake's palms, his shoulders, his chest. Soon, the tempo of the music turns slow and intoxicating, and she finds herself pressed up against him as the heavy crowd push them together. His breath is steady on her cheek, and when she stumbles a little he puts a hand on her waist to keep her upright. She traces the lines of his plaid patterned shirt with a finger, her breathing a little uneven and a vibrant, telling ache growing between her legs.

Amy never thought dancing could have had this effect on her – maybe she's just never danced with the right person before.

Jake's hand pulls her a little closer as someone pushes past behind her. She can feel the metal of his belt buckle through the thin fabric of her dress, and when she looks up into his wide eyes she knows, they both know, no matter how drunk they are they've traversed into territory they can't return from. She reaches up and curiously touches his soft curls, his rough jawline, his plush, parted lips, half illuminated in the strobe lights. His mouth twitches, and he looks at her like she's a mirage.

She thinks about dumpster-diving, about Rex Buckingham, about champagne and thirty-year-old scotch mixed with top shelf tequila and olive juice.

She doesn't have to think about how soft his lips might feel on hers, because before she realises it's already a reality.

Amy's world is fading at the edges as she grips at Jake's shirt, scratching at the soft material to make this feel more real. There's barely a chance to breathe as he kisses her back and she grows more frantic, as though he's going to slip away from her at any moment. He tastes sweeter than she ever imagined and she smiles against him, breathing hard against the strong planes of his frame, having chased this for what feels like forever and it finally being in her grasp.

Until, that is, it's ripped away.

He stares at her, his hand gently pushing against her shoulder, and she stops breathing as the lights seem to dim. She's bruised his jaw with lipstick, but his eyes are wide as if she's slapped him. She recognises this look – it's panic, and it starts to infect her, too. His hand slips from her waist, and his eyes dart around her face.

“Amy – I – I can't do this,” he says, and suddenly the real world comes back to hit her in the face.

She needs fresh air.

“I should leave.”

She can't push through the crowd fast enough, shame and embarrassment flushing up her neck, making her sweat. Of course, of _course_ he doesn't feel that way about her – he looks blankly at his desk and sees Sophia's face, not hers. Not anymore.

She hails a cab for the short journey home, and wearily climbs the steps to her apartment on aching legs. Her couch looks so warm and comforting, and she flops right down onto it, burying her spinning head into a pillow. Her own voice rings round her head, _I'm with someone, nothing's going to happen_ , and her throat starts to close up, making it hard to breathe. _Stupid, stupid_ . She can't erase the image of the look on his face from that night, vulnerable and honest in the cool spring air, when he'd first muttered that seismic phrase. _Romantic-stylez_.

Her phone buzzes, and she pulls it from her purse to see a missed call from Jake, and three messages from Kylie. She can't bear to relay how her plan had tanked to her friend, not yet, and she doesn't know if she has it in her to speak to Jake when she's on the edge of frustrated, angry tears.

Instead, she drafts a new, short message, and presses send.

_I'm sorry about tonight._

After a few seconds, the reply comes back.

_Title of your sex tape._

She releases a raw burst of laughter despite herself, and it's that that tips her over the edge. She drops her phone onto the carpet, smearing her make up all over the pads of her palms as she rubs her eyes fiercely. She doesn't see the message that follows until the next morning, when she's grasping for aspirin and a cool glass of water.

_Don't worry about it, Ames. See you at work._

–-

Amy spends a lot of the next few days with her head down. Since she and Jake had put away two guys for the Baltic Street robbery last week, come Monday Amy is partnered with Rosa on a kidnapping-ransom case. She spends most of the day either sat at Detective Cook's desk or questioning the parents of the missing girl, and when Jake rolls in at four with three cuffed car thieves she bows her head under the pretence of scratching her neck.

On Wednesday, she walks in to find Jake already at work, unsurprisingly. She avoids his gaze, dumping her purse on her chair and then going straight to the coffee machine. She can feel his eyes on her as she walks away, and she's happy to find the break room empty. The few snippets she recalls from the weekend are fuzzy, and mostly just emotions; excitement, heat, desire, shame. Grasping at images is like clutching at smoke, but she remembers the soothing feel of his large hand on her hip.

“Hey.”

She jumps at the sound of his voice, soft yet loud over the quiet buzz of the bullpen. Her hand jerks and coffee spills over the counter, dripping onto her leather boot.

“Sorry, didn't mean to scare you,” Jake says, a nervous jitter in his voice.

“It's fine, you just... snuck up on me,” Amy replies, pouring what's left of the coffee into a mug and wiping the rest up.

Jake takes a breath, smiling awkwardly. “I just wanted to say... thanks.”

Amy blinks. “Thanks?”

“Yeah, for, you know,” he offers, gesticulating. “Inviting me to hang out. I know that... I haven't been much fun lately, and you're trying to cheer me up, and... I appreciate that.”

She nods, a tight smile aimed at the floor. Blood is rushing in her ears, but she can hear other members of their squad making their way in. Jake shifts on his feet and crosses his arms, glancing through the shutters.

“Listen, we should probably talk about -”

“It's okay, Jake,” she blurts, panicked motormouth taking over as a flight response. “You don't – I'm sorry, you don't have to say anything else.”

He blinks. “No, I -”

“Santiago, get your things!”

Rosa charges in, and Amy drops her tense shoulders.

“One of our suspects has been spotted in a bakery on 11th. Let's go.”

Amy takes a quick swig of coffee, and looks apologetically at Jake as she strides past him. He doesn't follow her, and she doesn't look back at the break room as she follows Rosa out of the precinct.

–-

“So, what did I walk in on back there?”

Rosa cocks an eyebrow at Amy from the driver's seat. Their suspect is in the back – an initial search of his home did not bring forth any clues as to the whereabouts of the missing student, but a forensics team filed in as Amy was cuffing him.

“You mean, a bedroom that smelled like every frat house I've ever been in times a million?” she replies, grimacing.

“First off, I find it hard to believe you have ever stepped inside a frat house,” Rosa smirks. “Second - I was talking about you and Jake, dummy. Did something happen with you guys?”

Amy looks forward at the line of traffic they're currently stuck in.

“I'm not trying to pry, Santiago. But you were all quiet and jumpy yesterday, especially when Peralta was around, and last week you could barely shut up.”

“It's okay. There's nothing to discuss, really,” Amy says dully. When Rosa continues to stare at her, she elaborates. “He's not interested, so I'm backing down, okay?”

Rosa frowns. “He told you that?"

“I – not explicitly, but...” Amy thinks about the hand on her shoulder, a gentle rebuttal. “We got a drink together on Saturday. We had fun, but... he made it clear that me and him isn't something he wants any more.”

The traffic starts to move, and Rosa kicks the car into a slow crawl.

“Hmph. If you're sure that's what he meant... maybe it is out of your control, in which case it sucks, and I'm sorry. But Jake's never been great at expressing himself.”

“He was pretty clear,” Amy mutters, trying to keep the bitterness out of her voice as she feels heat rise up her cheeks.

Rosa is silent for a while, before exhaling loudly. “Okay. Well, when we get this schmuck back to the precinct, I'll let you be the bad cop in interrogation. That always cheers you up.”

Amy smiles, twisting her hands together. “Thanks.”

The questioning does, for a while, take Amy's mind off things. The suspect, Dan Cramer, isn't made of strong stuff and after an hour and a half of Amy's persistence and Rosa's quiet intimidation, he gives up the address in East Williamsburg where his twin brother Liam is holding the nineteen year old daughter of a pharmaceutical company CEO. Amy feels a low buzz of pride develop in her stomach when she strides out of the room, just as she always does when she manages to crack an important case; Ellie Carpenter's life might be saved because of the intelligence they just procured.

“Diaz, Santiago – I'm coming with you,” Holt announces as the pair of them are vesting up. “So are Sergeant Jeffords and Peralta. We all want this resolved cleanly, and you'll need back up.”

Rosa nods. “Good. Cramer says there's at least three people guarding the girl at all times – I don't want anybody getting away.”

The apartment where Liam Cramer is holed up is on the fifth floor of a rundown apartment complex, on the north side of the district. As everyone else prepares to go inside, Jake takes his position in a side alley, ready for instructions should anyone try to make an escape out of the front of rear exits. By the time they're ready for action, the sun is low on the Brooklyn skyline, and before she enters the apartment building Amy sees Jake pull out some shades as a defence against the strong rays that peek through the gridded streets.

The hallway smells faintly of marijuana and damp wallpaper. They creep silently up several flights of stairs, Rosa and Amy taking the lead, and find apartment 5d easily. They smoothly get into place – Amy and Rosa to the right of the frame, guns raised and ready to burst in as soon as the Sarge breaks the door open with one giant kick.

“Freeze! Everybody down, hands in the air!”

The room is grey and musty; the only light streams from a single open window, wooden blinds half open, and the silhouette of a girl tied to a chair casts a shadow in the beams. There are five men with her in the room, more than they had banked on. Terry corners two of them in the corner near the door, and Rosa pins another to the floorboards as Holt converges on a fourth. Amy is left with the other Cramer brother, who is backing slowly towards the wall with his hands raised.

“Don't think about it, Cramer!”

He pauses at her words, sizing her up, before he wrenches open the sash window with one hand and vaults onto the fire escape.

Swearing, Amy holsters her gun and runs after him, radioing his movements to Jake as she jumps over rails and clatters down the iron staircase. He jumps from the first floor and bolts west, and Jake catches up to her as she heads after him, the cold air tight in her chest as she runs in her clunky heels.

“I've worked out a shortcut,” Jake pants. “You keep going after him, and I'll cut him off at the end of the block.”

Cramer is moving and weaving too fast for Amy to aim her gun at him. He hurtles right, down a tiny passage that borders a communal yard, and once Amy reaches the entrance he's disappeared from view.

“Son of a bitch,” Amy curses, heading down the alley to where she can see sunbeams – she deduces there must be a dissecting gap between buildings there. She holds her gun in front of her and looks left first, into the blinding sun – and then there's a sharp pain in the back of her head, and everything goes dark.

 


	2. i dreamt about you nearly every night this week

“Amy? Amy.”

Amy blinks wearily, screwing up her eyes. Her face is warm and her retinas burn, before something moves in front of her face.

There's a hand on her shoulder, shaking her gently. She focuses to find Jake's face close to hers, blurry and concerned.

Someone else approaches, and as she turns her head to look there's a blinding pain in the back of her skull. Her stomach churns and she grabs Jake's arm to steady herself.

“It's okay, don't move,” Jake says, moving his hand from the back of her neck. His fingers are smudged with red, and they're shaking a little. “The paramedics are here for Ellie, and they can look at you, too.”

She looks at the heavy boots and thick dark trousers of the medic, who bends down and shines a light into her eyes. “How... how long was I out?”

“I don't know,” Jake confesses, worry etched into his brow. “Not long. I managed to catch Cramer a few minutes ago, just as the others were being led out to the car, and then I came looking for you.”

“Could you step back, please, detective?” the medic requests, and Jake stands up and moves to the left, still watching Amy. She looks to the floor, and is compliant to the medic's tests as her head starts to throb more painfully, the pounding ache spreading through her skull. Jake shifts restlessly, occasionally turning back to look towards the main street.

Due to the cut on the back of her head, she's ushered into the ambulance with Ellie Carpenter for a look over at the hospital. Holt gives her a pat on the back and tells her that he'll meet them there, and as they drive off she watches him converse with Jake on the street corner.

She stays with Ellie in the ER waiting room, but they don't have to wait long to be seen. Amy crafts a few texts to her parents and Kylie to let them know what's going on, but gets no reply as they wait. Mr and Mrs Carpenter soon arrive and thank Amy profusely for saving their daughter, but she just mumbles _all in a day's work_ and smiles as the doctor draws the curtain between them. She jumped down a fire escape and got knocked unconscious – she doesn't much feel like a hero.

She's assessed by a student doctor and cleaned up by a nurse (the cut is minor and had stopped bleeding quickly, she doesn't need stitches), and then half hour later an attending comes along. To her surprise, Jake is in tow.

“What are you doing here?” She asks.

“Holt sent me – not that I didn't want to see how you are,” he gabbles. “He just got waylaid with helping Rosa process the perps, and I volunteered to come down.”

Amy doesn't say anything. She's tired, and she's aching, and she just wants to go home.

The doctor tells her that due to her symptoms she probably has a grade two concussion.

“You'll be discharged in a little while, and we'll give you some pain medication for your headache,” he concludes. “You should avoid vigorous activity and take at least a week off work – I'll make an appointment for you to come back and see me so I can give you another assessment then. But no chasing criminals until I say so.”

She thinks the doctor winks at her, but she can't focus her eyes properly under the neons.

“Do you have anyone that can stay with you for the next forty-eight hours? You need to be observed in case your symptoms get worse, especially as you blacked out.”

Amy blinks at the vomit-coloured linoleum, and tries to think straight. Her parents are on a cruise for the next ten days. Kylie is in Texas for a work-related conference. Her brothers all live in New Jersey, and they all have jobs, families and obligations. She raises a hand to her face and rubs her eyes.

“Don't worry, I'll sort something out,” she hears Jake reply.

“There's a leaflet here outlining care instructions. If any of these symptoms appear or get worse, bring her back to the emergency room. You should also wake her every couple of hours tonight, and make sure she gets something to eat and plenty of fluids. I'll just go fill out a prescription and an appointment card, and I'll be right back.”

His footsteps fade away, and Jake sits down in the chair next to her bed. He scratches at his jeans absent-mindedly; his fingers are still painted with her blood. “How's your head?”

“The intern gave me something for it,” she groans. “I'm definitely the first cop he's ever treated, like he was fresh out of med school. He was so enthusiastic, and the only words I could make out as he treated me were 'brave', 'awesome' and 'super cool'.”

He grins, and it's more blinding than the harsh hospital lights. She swallows, suddenly feeling like she's about to burst into tears.

As soon as they get back to her apartment, she rips off her dirty windbreaker and heads to the bathroom. It's late now, and she washes her face with a harsh cleanser and ties back her hair, careful not to touch the sore spot on her scalp. When she emerges, Jake is rifling through her cupboards, pulling out boxes.

“What do you eat, Amy?” He asks, shaking a box of old cereal. “The only thing I can find that isn't out of date is a can of tuna, and you only have butter and chocolate pudding in your fridge.”

She shrugs. “I've been working a lot of late shifts the past two weeks. I mostly just get dinner delivered to the precinct, or pick up something on my way home.”

Jake sighs. “Well, you need a proper meal.”

“I'm not hungry.”

“Doctor's orders!”

She exhales deeply like she's dealing with a petulant child, even though she knows he's just trying to take care of her. She can't deal with all the emotions that his being here brings; acting like nothing has happened between them is draining. “Jake... I'm going to sleep. Maybe I'll eat something in a few hours, but... just don't push it, okay?”

He acquiesces, and she goes to the closet to pull out a comforter and a pillow. She doesn't have a spare room but she puts them on the couch for him, along with the television remote.

“I think there's a curry in my freezer if you want it,” she yawns, and he nods in thanks. “See you in a few hours.”

–-

When she wakes, her senses feel suffocated. The pain medication had knocked her right out and coming back to consciousness feels like swimming through mud to reach the surface.

It's still dark, and her eyes are sticky. The mattress is dipped next to her, and her lamp flicks on, making her whine.

“Amy, do you know who I am?” Jake whispers dramatically. She blindly reaches out and swats at him.

“Detective Jake I-Am-A-Twelve-Year-Old Peralta,” she groans into her pillow.

“Uh-oh. You're clearly confused, I should take you back to the hospital.”

She slowly manages to open her eyes, drowsily propping herself up and shifting back to sit against the headboard. Jake is perched on the edge of her bed holding a steaming bowl and a spoon, and on her bedside table is a pint of water.

“What's this?”

“I went down to the store on the corner and bought a few groceries for your fridge,” Jake says, offering her the bowl. “I made chicken risotto – I hope that's okay. You should eat before you take more painkillers, or they'll irritate your stomach.”

The aroma of garlic and cream cheese makes Amy's stomach gurgle, and Jake raises his eyebrows in point. She takes the dish and starts to eat – it's good, even better than her mom's.

“Didn't peg you as a culinary wizard,” she says through a mouthful of chicken. “You're more of a gummy-bear breakfast kinda guy.”

“Yeah, well. When your mom works late, you gotta learn sometime.”

She watches his knee bounce up and down, and when she meets his eyes the corner of his mouth turns up. His face looks youthful in the soft light, and she tries not to think about the way strobe lights dance over it in the dark. He pushes the spoon back to her lips, and she obeys.

“I called Holt while you were asleep,” Jake says as she continues to eat. “I explained that you couldn't come back for at least a week, and that you needed someone to stay with you for two days.”

Amy stops, spoon halfway to her mouth. “Jake -”

He waves a hand. “Don't worry about it. I could tell it was stressing you out trying to organise it before, so... yeah. He's going to switch some shifts around to cover me, it's not a big deal."

Her hand trembles round her spoon. The gesture means a lot, especially after the last few days. “Thank you.”

He exhales, loud in the silent room. She finishes her meal and Jake takes the bowl back, instructing her to drink at least half the glass of water. He doesn't make to leave until she does so, and she's nervous under his gaze. His expression is neutral, satisfied that she's following his orders.

He puts both feet on the floor, making to stand, but pauses as if contemplating something.

“See you in a few hours,” he says and leans forward, standing up quickly and making for the door. “I'm off to take full advantage of your DVD collection - except for the weirdly large amount of Patrick Swayze films you have.”

–-

When Jake checks on her in the early morning, waking once again feels like a monumental task. She's hot and breathless, and when she feels his hand on her shoulder it takes her a while to deduce that it's not in her head.

“You alright?” he murmurs. “Were you dreaming?”

The light isn't on this time, but she can still make out his silhouette. She nods, catching her breath, feeling dizzy and light-headed. She sits up, grasping for the glass of water, and takes several large gulps.

She's glad he can't see her face properly. She raises a shaky hand and wipes her damp forehead, feeling the flush, and he shifts closer, replacing her hand with his own.

“You're burning up.”

“It's okay,” she whispers. “I just – painkillers.”

He fumbles for the packet and pops two capsules, handing them to her.

“What's your name?”

“Amy Santiago,” she mumbles into the water.

“And mine?”

“Jake Peralta,” she breathes. “I'm fine, really – it's just a headache.”

He stands up, taking her empty glass as he walks out of the room. He returns a few minutes later with it full, clutching something large and soft-looking in the other hand. He makes her drink a few more mouthfuls, then raises the object to the back of her head and holds it to her scalp. It's cool and soothing against the sore skin and throbbing ache.

“Mm,” she sighs. “Thanks.”

She raises her hand to take it off him, her palm partially closing over his. Now that her eyes have adjusted, she can make out the right side of his face in the dull moonlight, lips and brow twisted in concern. His hand leaves the ice pack once she grasps hold of it properly, and his cool fingers brush an errant lock of hair behind her ear. She sucks in a quiet breath, and he stills.

“Jake.”

Amy chokes on his name. She doesn't have the energy to do this, but she can't stand the tension. He can't look at her like that, touch her like that, when the last time they'd been this close he'd pushed her away.

“It's five in the morning, Ames,” he says.

His hand trails over her jaw, and her head pounds when she moves away. She whimpers, and she very much wishes he would go so she can give in to the threat of tears without him watching.

“You can't... don't do that, not after you said no. It's not fair.”

He removes his hand, and she watches his throat bob.

“You scared me,” he whispers suddenly. “I saw you lying in the alley, and I... ”

He doesn't finish his sentence, but leans forward and presses his lips to her forehead. Amy's chest tightens, her eyes stinging. She takes the ice pack off, but she's still cold.

“Sorry.”

–-

He knocks on her at nine, and as she squints at him in daylight he looks tired and drawn, but cheery like the past few hours never happened. He announces that he's going to swing by his place to pick up a spare change of clothes and some other things, and she tells him to take the door keys.

When she gets up, she feels a little less achey and nauseous, but still sticky and exhausted. She draws a bubble bath, and while the taps run she goes to get some breakfast. On the side is a fresh loaf of bread and a bunch of grapes, and when she opens the fridge she gasps because it's completely full; there are fresh vegetables in the salad box, cartons of milk and juice in the door and the shelves are stacked with pots of yoghurt, packets of meat and a selection of pies and pastries. The cruelty of affection for him makes her freeze, staring at the open fridge in wonder.

She pours herself some cranberry juice and bites into a large custard danish, crisp and sweet on her tongue, and moans.

She almost falls back to sleep in the bath. It's a struggle to stop her head getting wet, as she doesn't want to irritate the sore wound on her scalp further. When she gets out and goes back to her bedroom her phone pings, and it's a text from Rosa – a short message to say congrats on cracking Cramer, and that the squad hopes she's feeling okay. Amy replies with a thank you and a smiley face, and Rosa's next message tells her to take advantage of Jake's cooking while he's there. _Fake the shakes and he'll make you a cheesecake_.

She towels off in front of her full length mirror, her skin pink and steaming.

The front door banging startles her, and she hears rustling. She hunts for her best pair of sweats and a tank top, pulling them on and nervously emerging from the bedroom, finding Jake making a large pot of coffee and piling the remaining danishes onto a plate. He's wearing a simple navy t-shirt, and his hair is sticking up wildly at the front.

Amy takes a deep breath.

“What you bought wasn't 'just a few groceries', Jake,” she says, in a hopefully neutral greeting. “My fridge hasn't been that full since Thanksgiving 2013. But... thanks. You didn't have to.”

Jake grins, and looks up from fiddling with the coffee machine. He waves his hand dismissively at her comment and takes a huge, smug bite of danish. “Let's face it - if I'm going to be here for two days, I'll probably eat most of that.” He chews messily, groaning round the sweet pastry just as she did, and pads towards her in his socks. “You feeling better? You were in a bit of a state last night.”

“Yeah, I um – I was just having a weird dream,” she stammers. “That and the concussion, you know, I was...”

“Tripping balls?”

She laughs. “Something like that.”

He smells of sugar and aftershave, and he's so close that he drops crumbs on her top.

“Watch it, I just bathed.”

“I want to see your gruesome cut,” he says, walking round her so he can inspect the back of her head. “I said I'd send a picture to Boyle. He told me he got mauled by an old lady yesterday and wants to start a Wound Wall in the break room.”

“Yeah, because everybody wants to see that when they're eating lunch,” Amy grimaces. “If you point a camera anywhere near me, I'll end you.”

He laughs, and the huff of his breath whirls over her bare shoulder. She moves out of his space and over to the coffee machine, and spies a stack of DVDs on the counter. “What's this?”

“ _Training Day_ , _Lethal Weapon_ and _Fargo_ ,” Jake narrates as she picks them up. “I thought minor head injuries might be a good excuse for a cop movie marathon?”

“And you picked the best three,” she grins, answering his expectant tone and picking up another pastry, then faltering. “Wait, that doesn't sound like you. Where's -”

Jake pulls another DVD out from behind his back, eyes lighting up. “Oh, Santiago, I thought you'd never ask.”

–-

They spend most of the day beached on the sofa, alternating between watching the movies they've both seen many times before and chatting. Jake serves up vegetable soup with cheese and ham sandwiches for lunch, and when he dribbles it down himself Amy rolls her eyes and throws a tissue at him. He tells her about going to his cousin's bar mitzvah and entertaining ten-year-olds with gruesome murder tales, before his aunt Julia ushered him away from their table. He listens intently to her stories about her brothers, how Michael, Angel and Rudi all got married in the same year and nearly drove their mother insane with the stress. They both laugh when Jake gives her gossip on what Gina was like as a child (pretty much exactly the same, but with more attitude and no cell phone addiction). They talk about everything except what's on Amy's mind, and what she suspects is on his too by the way he glances at her when he thinks she's not looking.

They make hot blackcurrant tea (Amy can't drink and Jake didn't think to bring beer for himself) and put _Die Hard_ on at around eight. Jake drifts in and out of sleep, almost spilling his half-finished cup over her couch. She finds herself staring at his stupid, stupid face, smushed up against the cushions yet somehow still looking serious in slumber.

Amy thinks about Rosa's advice – not just from the past few days, but last week as well. She picks at her sweats, remembering Jake's rabbit-in-headlights expression when he found her in the alley, and the word _sorry_ on his tongue. She thinks about how powerful and wanted she felt wearing that little black dress. She thinks about how unfair it is, and takes a long drink of tea.

The flickering light from the action movie is the only thing breaking the darkness. She's still watching him when the sound of an explosion jerks him awake – he blearily looks around, then remembers where he is, and yawns.

“Sorry you didn't get much sleep last night,” Amy says.

“All in a night's work, ma'am.” He jokes, remaining slumped on his side against the back of the couch and rubbing his face.

“Can I ask you something?” Amy blurts, pausing the film. “I mean, don't misconstrue this – after the past few weeks – you don't have to answer, but... do you still have feelings for Sophia?”

He just blinks at her; any time Jake doesn't immediately respond to a question makes her stomach churn. He opens his mouth, but falters, and Amy starts to panic.

“I'm sorry, that was so blunt. And completely none of my business, I -”

“No,” he answers, instantly quieting her. “No, I... it's fine. I don't. I think she'll forever be the Gruber to my McClane.”

He smiles, scratching his neck. Amy can hear her heart pounding; she doesn't know why she asked it, and she doesn't know if she feels better or worse for knowing the answer. She just _had_ to know.

“It was just... a bad break up. For me,” he continues haltingly, as she stares down at her hands. “Some things got said, and... it made me think about stuff. Things. You know.”

“Not really, you're being pretty vague.”

He laughs softly, breaking the tension.

“I'm sorry I stopped things,” he says, and Amy doesn't think she hears him properly because he's jammed his fingernail between his teeth and he's mumbling into his hand. His wide eyes flicker upwards, and he looks about ten years younger. “I just... didn't think it was fair. On you, I mean. I.. _God_ , you're amazing, and beautiful, and everything I've wanted since before I knew what that was, but... I'm a little messed up right now, and I...”

He trails off into silence.

“What did Sophia say to you?” Amy whispers, voice wavering. “This – this isn't you. This isn't Jake 'I'm Amazing And Brilliant' Peralta.”

He stands up, pacing and running his hands through his hair, like he needs to shake his body out. “No, Amy, maybe it's not me. But I don't _just_ want to be that person. I need to be something else if – if I want something like this-” he waves a pointed finger between them both “-to last.”

She just stares at him, speechless. Jake had surprised and unnerved her over the past few weeks, but this was completely out of the blue.

“You don't want this, Amy. It's for the best.”

She gapes at him, indignant. “You - you don't get to tell me what or who I want, Jake – that's not fair!"

He huffs through flattened palms. “I – I can't do this. Can't talk about this right now. I'm going to take a shower.”

“Jake!”

He disappears into the bathroom, leaving Amy sitting there. She's trembling, her jaw tight. She hears her the groan of her shower motor start and water pelt against tile, and clenches her fist against her leg.

She wants to follow him and pound on the bathroom door, demanding to talk this out, but she knows it'll probably just make things worse. Instead, she goes to her room and pops another painkiller to dull the ache in her skull, flopping down on her bedspread. She's still lying there when the bathroom door opens again, and she listens to the soft creaking of floorboards as Jake moves around his makeshift bedroom.

They're both pent up, emotional. She'll wait until she's calmed down a bit before going out, she thinks, but before that happens she's already fallen asleep.

-–

Amy rises at three a.m., hearing the television set play softly from the next room. She pulls on a sweater and takes the empty pint glass from her table, quietly opening the door and tiptoeing through to the living room. Jake is sprawled over the couch in plaid shorts and a Henley, head in the crease of the seat and bare legs dangling over the other armrest, television remote on his stomach. Amy puts the glass down and sits next to where his hip lies, taking the remote and turning off the television. They're thrown into semi-darkness, and as the shadows of his eyelashes flutter over his cheek, Amy puts a hand on his wrist.

He grunts sleepily, squinting at her face.

“Amy? You okay?”

“Just – be quiet,” she commands, and he does. “I know you think you're doing some kind of noble thing, but... don't. You think you can control everything, but you don't have to. Put a little trust in someone else.”

She feels his breath hitch in the air and he props himself up on his elbows, processing her words. She hovers just in front of him, enjoying the way his eyes can't stay still. After the night at Blue Point, she had felt guilty about wanting to do this – but things have changed now, and she isn't going back.

“Do you want this, Jake?”

He swallows, squeezing his eyes shut, and Amy really shouldn't like the effect she's having on him as much as she does. It's a similar kind of power to that she felt in the black dress, vibrating in her bones, but it's different this time. She never wanted to push or intimidate him, and she thinks she's found the right balance because he isn't recoiling or starting to panic, like last time. She's giving him the choice to make the first move.

His eyes drift open and up to hers, pupils blown and stormy. Beautiful, she thinks.

She almost loses her nerve as he continues to stare, the expression on his face lightening a little. She can taste the cool bite of mint on his breath as he moves his head minutely, tilting as though to get a better look at her. Amy is trembling with the suspense, and she doesn't know if she's imagining hearing his heart race next to hers.

“I'm just... so scared of fucking up,” he mumbles. “I – I really, really wouldn't want to screw this, us, up. I want to be more. For you. But I don't know if I can.”

She runs a hand through his curls, then down over his cheek until her fingertips land on his lower lip, reminiscent of the last time they'd kissed. Her heart breaks a little. “You're putting too much on your own shoulders. There are two of us, here. Stop, just... I know you. You're underestimating yourself. Sophia underestimated you. I know you won't mess this up; you care, and you try, you really try. And I love that.”

“That might be the nicest thing you've ever said to me.” He smiles, then, and turns his face in her hand. “I meant what I said earlier. You...”

She drops her hand to his shoulder, stroking the soft cotton of his shirt. His expression is almost too much, and she looks up at him through her eyelashes as the reality of the moment thunders through her mind. The words on the tip of her dry tongue sound bold, and she takes the plunge.

“If you want me, then take me.”

And this time, Jake kisses her, because he's not an idiot and doesn't need to be told twice. His hands are trembling a little sliding under her jumper at the waist, and she reassures him it's alright by pressing her chest against his. A strong arm round her torso, he's kissing her like he's thirsty, and together they collapse back down into the couch. She can't help the smile spreading over her face as as something twists and blooms inside her, because fucking _finally_.

Amy runs her curious hands under his shirt, through the light dusting of hair on his chest. She sits up, straddling him, and looks down at his kiss-bruised lips, feeling a little dizzy. His eyes are wide and his hair is mussed, just how she likes it, and his fingers can't stop moving on her arms. She shifts her balance to relieve a cramp forming in her leg and he jerks, letting out a soft gasp as his hips grind up into hers. When she repeats the action, this time for investigative purposes, his eyes flutter closed and his fingernails scratch at her skin, and something that feels like pride runs through her. She watches his micro-expressions as she continues to rock back and forth, and he looks back in fascination - he's half hard already.

She makes quick work of the Henley and sucks her way down his chest, taking her time. She catalogues the small hitches of his breath as the tip of her tongue circles his nipple, the way his broad chest expands feverishly as her loose hair trails after her mouth, how he laughs dazedly when she nips at the skin of his stomach with her teeth. She can feel her own arousal building as she hovers just above the waistline of his boxers, about to give herself an answer to those times she'd found herself lying awake at night, ashamedly wondering what her partner's cock looked like.

He's watching her now, still and silent, and she dips her head to mouth him through the cotton, breath hot and shaking.

Her name sounds filthy in his mouth as she slides his boxers down and gently kisses the head of his erection, running her tongue over the slit and her fingers up the inside of his leg, then up around the shaft. It's hot and salty sweet in her mouth, and as her lips stretch over him when she takes him deeper she feels the heat between her legs grow into a pounding ache.

She builds up a rhythm that makes him whine and groan, restless on the cushions, and as she watches sweat bead on his face she reaches down and roughly touches herself, desperate to relieve some of the pressure as she thinks about how he would feel inside her. He moves his hand to grip her hair, but then seems to think better of it and strokes the back of her neck instead; she's so caught up in what she's doing it takes her a few moments to realise he's consciously avoiding her injury. She slows, glancing upwards, and just thinks, _Jake._

“Amy, I... f-fuck,” he stutters as she takes him in further, small noises of pleasure coming from her throat as she lavishes her attention on him. She's rubbing herself in small circles in time with her tongue, and her breathing becomes heavy and uneven through her nose. With an inventive grin, she brings her hand up from between her legs and wraps her wet fingers around the base of his cock, sliding them up and down to meet her lips. It's too much for him; his fingers clamp hard on her neck as his hips judder, and she tightens her lips round him as he comes.

She pulls up his boxer shorts as if nothing happened and rests her head against his knee, watching him pant and run his hand over his face, swearing under his breath. She can't stop smiling - _she_ did that to him, made his skin flush and his legs shake.

“That was so unbelievably hot,” he whispers as she crawls back up his body. “Even hotter than that time you had eggshell in your bra. And... completely unexpected.”

She pauses, fingers on his collarbone.

“Okay, not _that_ unexpected,” Jake clarifies. “I mean, the past few weeks? You're not as subtle as you think you are.”

She pinkens. “Yeah, well. A friend told me I should be brave and go after what I want. And I took that to mean in every respect.”

He makes a comically impressed sound and brings their lips back together, both of them laughing breathlessly. Jake sits up and tightens his grip on her, picking her up and staggering exaggeratedly towards her bedroom until she punches him in the shoulder and he lets her down. Her eyes flutter closed as his hands run over her back, face buried in her neck. He whispers something reverently between kisses that sounds like _you're amazing_ , before straightening up and looking into her eyes.

“Sure you're feeling well enough for this?”

She pulls back, touched, but her fingers are still tracing circles on his chest.

“You know what they say cures headaches, don't you?”

He cocks his eyebrow as if to say _challenge accepted_ and she giggles, resisting the urge to blurt _but that probably doesn't apply to trauma based headaches_ and killing her own line. His expression straightens and he gives her a small, sincere smile, and it doesn't quite matter that he came in her mouth a few minutes ago as she suddenly feels like they're back in the precinct, joking around as old friends and partners. She stills, aware that he's almost naked as they stand together in the middle of her lamp-lit bedroom, and her mind races with the feeling of amazement that this is actually happening. Perhaps, she thinks as his eyes narrow, trying to read her, it will never stop hitting her.

“Hey.”

He strokes her cheek and kisses her gently; he was always so good at reassurance and support in his own way, even if he doesn't realise it. She relaxes in his grip, and the kiss swiftly turns heated again as she shifts her stance and remembers how wet she is for him.

She runs her hands over every part of him she can reach, coming back to his face again and again; she hears those choked little noises emerge from her throat as their mouths move together, open and gasping. One of Jake's hands cups her ass tightly, the tips of his fingers encroaching on the hot skin between her thighs and she moans insistently, needing more pressure there.

She scrapes her lips over his sandpaper cheek, relishing the feeling of a masculine figure in her arms. She kisses his chin dimple and it makes him laugh, so she sucks under his jaw for a different reaction. He's firm and rough in some places and baby soft in others, she finds; his breath comes hot over her face as she reaches down for him again, nails leaving white trails on his belly. He grabs her hand, stopping her, and pulls her face back up to his level.

“Mm, Amy. Your turn.”

They stumble backwards, his hands frantic on her sweater, and he breaks the kiss to carefully tug it over her head. Next to go is the tank top, then her sweats and both their underwear – he pulls her into him when they're rid of all clothing, skin flushed, his tongue tasting hers. He walks her back until her knees hit the bed and mumbles into her skin, “So many times I've thought about making you come.”

She starts to tremble in anticipation as he dots light kisses over her collarbone, heavy hands sliding up her bare thighs. His eyelashes tickle her breasts as his tongue travels straight down the middle, and she's so desperate for him to touch her that it's getting uncomfortable to the point of painful.

“Thought about what your face looks like,” he mumbles, voice vibrating against her stomach. “The noises you make... if you taste as sweet as I hope you do. If you're a hair puller, or a screamer.” He pauses just above her hips and grins up at her. “I'm definitely betting on that last one.”

She lets out a short ghost of a laugh, and his lips start to shower arduous attention on her inner thighs. Her muscles quiver and she can't keep her legs still, cursing the way he can go from whispering dirty, seductive things to her to joking around and back again. “ _Jake._ ”

He tuts, as though chiding her for being so impatient, but swiftly hooks her legs over his shoulders as his hands grip her hips and finally licks a long, hot stripe up the length of her sex.

Amy's entire body melts into the mattress, jolts of pleasure making her breathing turn to sharp inhalation and shaky gasps. He's as attentive to her there as he is when he kisses her, starting off slow and tasting all of her, his tongue dipping inside her every so often as soft groans rumble from his throat. After Amy insistently grabs a tuft of his hair he focuses on her clit, shifting his shoulders forward and using them to push her thighs up towards her stomach for better access. She chokes on nothing as he hums, flicking his tongue skillfully, and she regrets every single occasion on which she called that big mouth of his stupid in her head. As her hands scrabble at the sheets she feels his close over them, linking their fingers.

He looks like heaven and utter filth all at once as he gorges himself on her, nose shiny and lips swollen, barely stopping for breath as he takes and kisses everything she has to offer. She can't remember the last time she couldn't physically stop arching and twisting during sex, her hair splayed over the pillows. She doesn't care that the cut on her scalp is stinging with the pressure; it's a mild irritation compared to the other sensations taking over her body.

Her orgasm sneaks up on her when he sucks, hard, and she cries out brokenly: a hoarse, hybrid sound that might have been his name compounded with a few expletives, if she had been in any state of mind to pay attention. When she comes back to herself, he's pressing his lips back into the inside of her thigh, hand extracted from hers to pull her legs gently from where they lie on his back.

Amy loves the taste of herself on him; she can't get enough of his damp lips as he becomes entwined with her from head to toe, his hands curious on her hips, breasts, ass. He makes a pleased sound as she strokes the back of his neck, curling warm, wet hair round her finger. He's hard against her stomach, and she never wants to stop touching him.

“Was it just like you thought?” She teases, wrapping her leg over his hip.

“Mm, better,” he moans. “So beautiful. Want to be inside you.”

With his desperate words her arousal rekindles, and she's scrabbling blindly in her cabinet drawer, ripping foil with her teeth, rolling the condom slowly down his length. She pushes him onto his back, ignoring how light-headed she feels (from her orgasm or her painkillers, she doesn't know, maybe both), and makes a breathy quip about how this would definitely be on the list of vigorous activities her doctor advised against. Jake looks up at her like he's seeing her properly for the first time, and she leans down to rest their foreheads together.

She hisses at the stretch, and Jake runs his hand up and down her thigh to try and soothe her as she slowly pushes back. He bites his lip with self-restraint as she moves slowly, trying to find a comfortable position and a rhythm that she likes, and as she sits back a little and rocks her hips she's able to take him in deeper without it hurting so much. Jake's breathing starts to flutter and his hands wander further north, reaching for her face. Amy smiles, leaning forward and bracing herself on his chest, and then he jerks his hips just so and _oh._

Her cry is a bold echo in the small room and it sets something off in Jake; he sits up and catches her lips, a wide hand spread on the small of her back to keep her rolling into him, the cold rubber of his watch sticking to her skin. Her clit grinds against him and she tilts her head back, completely overwhelmed, unable to get enough of the way he fills her.

Her nose is full of the scent of his aftershave that floats over her desk in the mornings, mingling with her light perfume. His muscles flex under her hands, and she thinks about how they feel under a tight black shirt as he wrestles fruit from her arms. She feels his lips reverent on her neck, kissing every moan, every stuttered verification of her pleasure, every desperate plea for him. She'd never been that vocal in bed, not really, but after everything that's gone on over the past year she can't help but to do everything within her power to make sure this is something she can keep, make sure that he knows he's enough for her. Encouragements and praises spill from her lips, her filter completely disintegrated in the heat between them.

His pupils are blown wide, eyelids low and lazy in pleasure as he drinks her in. Eventually the effort of sitting upright is too much and he flops back, taking her with him and bouncing slightly on the mattress before rolling her over, her hair splayed every which way over the sheets. They're melded together – Amy's hot all over, full of him, under him, and he shifts his hips to take her fully, the dirty slap of skin lost only in the sound of their thick breath and sweet nothings.

“Anything, I'll give you anything, Always. Amy,” he gasps brokenly into the crook of her neck, and he sounds so sincere she pulls him back with a handful of hair and marvels at the look in his caramel eyes. Their kisses turn into nothing more than desperate, sloppy gasps, bitten lips and primal grunts. She counts beads of sweat on his gorgeously flushed face until she can't keep from clamping her eyes shut; he changes angle and hits her in a place that knocks the air from her lungs.

“Mm. Jake. Want this, want you, Jake. Feel so good. _Jake_.”

His name is the only thing keeping her together as she hooks her ankles over his lower back, driving him further. He quickly learns how to force those helpless, unstoppable cries from her with every thrust, reading and reacting to her just as smoothly as if they were collaborating on a case, helping and guiding each other to the same end. She can feel her body gearing up for release again, small shudders in her limbs and that unbearably good friction sending seismic waves up her spine. Her nails tighten on his back, her mouth open and screaming as her whole body convulses, tightening around him to keep him inside her, his face disappearing from view as she scrunches her eyelids up to white bursts of light.

Her eyes open to find her arms clenched round him, her chest pressed tightly to his and his lips loose in a light, captivated smile. He's still moving inside her, torturously slow, and she presses back into the pillow in agonising pleasure, oversensitive. All she feels is Jake, all she has is Jake, all she wants is Jake. She tells him _faster, harder_ and he obliges, giving his all, drowning in her as a stream of curses and moans are lost in their kiss, and she's coming for the third time, trembling and hot and slick and almost sobbing his name, it's too much. His rhythm becomes uneven and his face is beautiful ecstasy, neck extended above her as he chases his own climax, and she can't resist reaching out and touching it as he comes, mouth open in a cry and one hand anchored in her hair.

For a few moments afterwards, the air is silent, charged and heavy in Amy's throat. The only thing audible is her own pulse combined with the sound of Jake's breathing. She watches his chest rise and fall next to her and he runs a hand through his hair, which is looking like he's had a somewhat serious electric shock. He turns his head sharply and gives her a brilliant smile, and her stomach bottoms out. She raises a lazy hand and trails her fingertips over his lips, mesmerised, and he kisses each one.

“Can't believe it took me getting knocked out by a perp for this to happen,” she murmurs, almost delirious.

“Are you saying you're glad you got a concussion?” He points out, and she laughs, unrestrained.

“C'mere.”

He folds the duvet over them as she pulls him close, and they share sleepy kisses before Jake falls into a slumber with his head tucked under her chin.

-–

They fuck languidly in the slow dawn light. Amy wakes early to take painkillers, Jake blinking in confusion as she moves out from underneath him. When she gets back into bed he kisses her all over until she's one with the sheets, headache a thing of the past, and his lips never leave hers until he's coming inside her, gasped praise tasting sweet on his mouth.

She must drift off again because suddenly it's noon, she's alone, and she can hear the radio and out-of-tune singing drifting in from the kitchen. She puts on her sweater and picks the first pair of pants she sees, which happen to be Jake's discarded boxers from this morning, and when she slides them over her hips she suddenly feels giddy from the intimacy of her clothing choice.

When she pads through, Jake's back is to her as he cooks on the hob, limbs fluid and full of energy as he belts out Bon Jovi lyrics. He's wearing a pair of black sweatpants she figures he must have retrieved from his apartment yesterday and nothing else, and his hair is sticking up every which way. She eyes up the faint pink marks on his shoulders where her nails had clung onto him, and feels a swell of possessive pride. He jumps a little when she runs a greedy hand through his wild tufts of hair, and the way his expression changes when his bright eyes hit her face could burn a city down.

“Smells good,” she comments, eyeing up the pancakes cooking on her previously dusty griddle pan and the bowl of sugar-dusted, chopped strawberries on the side.

“Yeah, you do,” he growls and leans in, crowding her against the counter. Every touch feels fresh, like they haven't just spent the past nine hours unable to keep their hands off each other, and even his gentle, fond kiss is addictive because it's _him_.

“You taste good, too,” he adds, hooking a finger round the elastic of her – _his_ – shorts, punctuating his words with pecks all over her face. “Mm... don't ever think I could get tired of kissing you. I could just go on... and on... and on. All day.”

“Well, you might have to stop for now because breakfast is burning.” Her heart is pounding a little from the sentiment he just laid out in front of her, but she quickly becomes amused as he rips himself away to flip the blackened pancakes over, scowling at the ruined food and throwing it in the trash. “I thought I was meant to be the bad cook?”

“You distracted me, so technically this is your fault.”

“Nuh-uh.”

She takes a strawberry and sucks on it wryly, making him groan in frustration.

“Hey, no. Not fair.”

They're laughing and covered in sugary strawberry juice when there's a knock on the door, and she has to push Jake's hands from the tops of her thighs before she wipes her face and goes to answer. It's Kylie.

“Hey! The front door was open so I came right up – sorry I didn't reply to your text, I only took my business phone to Houston because I'm a scatterbrain – but oh my god, are you okay? What the hell happened? Are you feeling better? Wait, why are you wearing those weird shorts, they aren't -”

Kylie stops babbling when she spots Jake at the table, and as Amy looks round she blushes at the ridiculous sight of him with a mouthful of fruit, hair in disarray and pink smears all over his bare chest. He waves at the visitor, and Kylie gapes back at him for a few seconds before failing to hide a very obvious grin.

“Hi, Jake!” she beams. I was just stopping by to see how Amy is, I actually have to go into work for a presentation now, but uh...” she turns to Amy and mutters, “the second he leaves, I'm coming back over. You will spare no detail, got it?”

Amy raises her eyebrows.

“Good. I'm proud of you!” She leans forward and kisses Amy on the head. “Feel better! Bye, Jake.”

Amy leans back against the door as it clicks shut, and Jake saunters over to her, bracing his arm above her head, juice dribbling down his chin as he slurps on the last of the berries. She wipes it up with her thumb and licks it off.

“Attractive, Jake.”

“You know it.”

She smiles, playing with the drawstrings on his trousers. “I guess it's real, then... now that someone else knows. I was convinced this was a drug-addled dream of some kind.”

“Do you often walk round in used men's underwear in your dreams, or...”

Amy pushes at his shoulder, then runs her fingers down his chest. A few days ago, she had thought this was forever out of her control, out of reach – and now he's standing here in front of her, giving himself to her, and _she_ made it happen.

“For the record, I'm having trouble believing it myself,” he says, tucking hair behind her ear with sticky fingers. “I just feel like...”

“I'm not going anywhere, Jake,” she says firmly. “I mean it. You know I want this. You. I want you.”

He's staring at her with the same expression he wore when she first told him she liked him, way back in Neustadter. She pulls him closer, wrapping her arms around him and burying her head into the crook of his neck, inhaling the bizarre combined scent of sweat, coconut shampoo and burnt pancake batter. She can't help but to laugh, because it's just so Jake, and she places a soft kiss behind his ear.

“Don't change.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic largely grew out of a prompt from Gabby, who suggested 'a fic where Amy tries to work up the courage to sort of woo Jake a bit' in the comments of another of my stories. So, Gabby, I hope you like this and thanks for the prompt!
> 
> My second shout out goes to carl_barker (aww-yeah) who was my ever-eager beta. Thank you for your improvements!
> 
> This is the longest and most explicit thing I've written in a while, and I would love to hear your thoughts if you enjoyed it (or if you didn't!). Thank you all for reading!


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